


Infernum ad absurdum

by brsb4hls



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Bitter Samgirl Club, Blasphemy, Blood Drinking, Body Horror-ish maybe, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Come play, Don't speak Latin in front of the demon, Dubious Consent, If I forgot stuff let me know, M/M, Mind Manipulation, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Rough Sex, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Swearing, Top Sam Winchester, Unbeta'ed, Unsafe Sex, black magic, light humor, post canon good omens, post season 14 supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brsb4hls/pseuds/brsb4hls
Summary: Even though technically retired, Crowley still has to work sometimes to satisfy his demonic urges. His recent temptation takes an unexpected twist.Aziraphale is a very supportive life partner.





	Infernum ad absurdum

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work I post here and unbeta'ed, so I hope readable.  
It starts of slowly, but contains dark themes, so be mindfull of the tags please. Due to the nature of the temptation I tagged dubcon to be on the safe side.  
Explicit sex is described, but not the main focus.  
Characterization and appearance book and show mix.  
This is an absolute rare pairing, so not many might be interested in it. To the ones who find their way here regardless and manage to push through, please drop me a line if you like, I'd love to discuss:).  
This is strictly Crowley POV, so limited.  
It is purely selfindulgent, I wanted to describe Crowley's process during a temptation, since I love the character and also have him interact with another favorite of mine.  
Lastly, just to be nostalgic: This is non-profitable and I own nothing.  
Have fun!

*  
Although not technically working for hell anymore, Crowley still gets the urge to tempt sometimes.  
Being a demon, he does not need to be ordered to do it, it just comes naturally, regularly and sometimes ineptly.  
He can sense it starting with something akin to a mild itch right inside his mind, almost like an intrusive thought.  
If Crowley ignores it, it starts to spread, flowing down, settling inside his chest and pushing against his ribcage until he has to take a deep, pointless breath.  
It culminates in an unpleasant, almost painfull stretching of his skin, all over his body, similar to the sensation before he starts to shed.  
He gets agitated, restless and tense until he submits.

Crowley has to.  
Aziraphale understands. 

Still Crowley does not want to mix things up, so he makes a point of not working near their home. As a bonus this also minimizes the chances of accidentially inconveniencing himself in the process.

The last tempting he did was in Slowenia. It was a tough one and it took days. The demon enjoyed it immensely.  
Sometimes Crowley likes to draw it out on purpose.  
He starts with traveling the human way to built up anticipation. When arrived at his destination, he observes carefully and meticulously until he finds the perfect client.  
The next step is to assign the most fitting sin to them, which can turn out to be quite surprising.  
Finally Crowley creates an impeccable scenario, carefully crafts his persona, locates the perfect spot, builts an irresistable atmosphere.  
He is an artist after all.  
The longer it takes, the sweeter Crowley’s relief and the deeper his satisfaction.

This time though, Crowley does not have the luxury to make any kind of decision at all.  
The urge to tempt appears suddenly, without preamble and seemingly out of nowhere. It makes Crowley nearly double over in it’s intesity.

He is at home in the living room, crouching between the oversized couch and a darkly polished oakwood shelf, comfortably sorting through his somewhat newly aquired record collection.  
When it hits him, Crowley drops his bootleg Deep Purple album, bought with actual money, because Aziraphale gave him that look at the yard sale, and pulls himself up to scramble onto the porch. Outside, Aziraphale is idly sitting on the steps, drinking tea and watching the birds.  
Skylarks, Crowley thinks, though he’s never been an expert on ornithological matters.

"Angel", demon groans, leaning shakily against the doorframe, "I think I’ll have to work, been a while, I guess…"  
Aziraphale looks up at him, surprised and slightly concerned.

"Whatever do you mean, dear? Like, right this instant?"

"Seems like, can’t really explain, it feels kinda weird, I must have missed it before. I’ll make it quick, be back in a jiff!", Crowley promisses.

He presses a kiss to the crown of Aziraphale’s curly head and vanishes with a rush of air, leaving the angel frowning and perplexed, and suddenly alone with an agitated exaltation of skylarks and a cup of rapidly cooling darjeeling.

*  
Crowley re-materializes inside a cloud of smoke, sweat and shattered dreams right in the middle of a run down bar in a small town in the west of the United States.  
Evanston, Wyoming to be precise, but Crowley does not know that yet, since he didn‘t activly choose the place. He simply floated with the tidal wave of his urges, an indestinct kind of pull, relying on his demonic gut instinct to lead him to where he would be the most effective.

Crowley shakes himself discretely and starts to eye his surroundings.

After quickly overlooking the other patrons and inwardly regarding his own appearance, Crowley lets his unneccessaryly loud and unnaturally tight outfit morph smoothly into something more resigned and appropriate, while approaching the bar.  
His long red curls end up stuffed underneath a blue denim basecap with a vaguely american-representing print on it, the purple valentino top switches to a dark blue dress shirt with a grey utility vest on top, and the red velvet pants become beige khakis. Slightly scoffed Nike‘s appear on Crowley’s feet.  
The ensemble is perfected with a pair of mirrored aviators that make Crowley look like an absolute tool. 

Satisfied with himself and relieved, that nobody seems to have taken notice of him yet, he orders a whiskey straight and gears up to metaphysically sift through the atmosphere.  
The process is always a bit unpleasant for Crowley, due to the exposure of way too many rather pointless and quite sticky human emotions, but it accelerates the procedure of finding a suitable client immensely.

With reluctantly reaching out, a vast array of feelings washes over the demon, and he cringes.  
The sensation registers to Crowley as being dipped in lemon curd and rubbed down with cat hair.  
Not that he would know precisely, but he’s got imagination.  
Crowley mentally pushes aside a great heap of boredom, some medium sized globs of desperation, about twenty eight cups of apathy, thirteen servings of regret, a flash of sadness and some spicy sprinkles of anger.

Then something hits him, hard and hot and deep and in just the right spot.  
He flicks his tongue out instinctivly and mewls involuntarily.

Crowley tastes sweet, rich guilt, a delicious concoction, simmered for years to thick, vascous perfection, delicately infused with the spice of repressed desire and frustration, topped off with just the right pinch of anger and something else, a secret ingredient, fiery and highly appetizing.  
He desperately wants to lap it all up immediatly.  
So Crowley starts to follow the sensation with his eyes all the way to a corner booth, where he finds a guy hunched over a bottle of house brew with the label partially peeled off.

He has his longish hair slicked back with gel and tucked behind his ears, dark rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his pointy nose.  
He is wearing a pea soup green sweater, most likely hand knitted, and dark grey, ill fitting polyester pants with brown oxfords, his unassuming appearance an obvious antithesis to his internal turmoil.  
Due to the benefits of demonic eyesight Crowley notices a wedding band on the guy‘s finger and a small silver crucifix on a chain around his neck.

Crowley shivers slightly.  
If hell were to give lectures, which they should, as Crowley had suggested multiple times, they’d probably use this particular human not only as an example for the perfect client, but also probably a test dummy.

Trying to keep his excited saunter in check, Crowley approaches the booth in a seemingly casual manner, his quivering demonic essence already so worked up, that he is more than willing to do the job with full physically application, which means getting his own devilish little paws dirty, in the very literal sense.

When he reaches his destination, Crowley leans down a bit, placing one hand on the grimy metal table, nonchalantly starting an innocent conversation: 

"Not much going on in this place, huh? Mind if I join you?"

The guy in the booth doesn’t look up, just sighs and mumbles to his beer bottle:

"'M not exactly good company right now."

"Aw, doesn’t matter to me, neither am I, probably",

Crowley answers, with a vague waving of his hand. 

"Just looking to pass the time. I’m on a buiseness trip and already bored out of my skull. Not much to do around here, eh?"

The guy shrugs and Crowley takes his chances, sliding into the booth opposite of him.  
"I'm Anthony" he offers, "call me Tony for short."

The guy looks up. "Sam", he answers quietly.

Crowley tries to get a good look at him through his glasses and finally takes them off, snake eyes hiding temporarily behind the unstable and short lived illusion of a friendly warm brown.  
Sam’s physical form is surprisingly good looking, inspite of the getup and hairdo.  
He appears to be somewhere in his late thirties, tall, with broad shoulders, sharp cheekbones and very pink lips. His eyes seem to be grey-green, but given the poor lighting it could be any other colour on the acceptable spectrum of human pigmentation.  
Maybe even a bit golden, though that would make Crowley uncomfortable.

Crowley flashes Sam a grin. Sam blushes in a very interesting way.

Still lacking a clue about his exact whereabouts, the background story Crowley provides to keep the conversation going is a very generic default scenario:

"I'm working for an inssurance company, management sent me here to check on some stuff, see if things add up, pretty dull really. Everything seems ok, so it’s mostly paperwork, I’m almost done already and still have nearly two days to kill ‚til I’m supposed to get back. Bugger, that."

"Huh" Sam says. "Well at least you get to travel. I’m an accountant slash salesman for my father- in-law’s floor- and wall-tile buiseness, do most stuff online, 'm basically stuck here."

"Ah that blows" Crowley fakely empathizes.  
"Father-in-law? You married than? She hot?" he winks, testing the waters a bit.

Sam draws his eyebrows tight at that and scrunches up his nose.

"Uhm, I guess, I mean, I’ve known her since highschool, we got married right after, she was really cute back than…"

"Highschool sweethearts!" Crowley interrupts,  
"You’re lucky you found someone that early on, some poor bastards search forever. Any kids?"

Sam flinches a bit at that. 

"Yeah, uhm, two, no, three, I mean, she’s pregnant again, we didn’t really expect it to happen, with the other two bein‘ teenagers already…Ya know, I accidentally knocked her up with the first one right after school, had to get married than, do the right thing" Sam says, gesturing at his crucifix.

Crowley is starting to violently buzz with anticipation and has to grip the table. The whole premiss is simply flawless, the set up an exquisite cosmic masterpiece.

"Congratulations" he says cheerfully, raising his glass and absolutely ignoring Sam’s obvious discomfort.  
"We should toast to that, always exciting, new life and such…what’r you having?"

"I, uhm, I’m not much for the heavy stuff, more of a beer guy myself…" Sam rubs the back of his head.  
"But I guess I could go for, ah"  
he points at Crowley’s glass.

Crowley’s smile grows radiant.  
"I’ll hook us up, be right back."

He waltzes smoothly over to the bar and returns with two shot glasses and a whole bottle of whiskey. A cheap one, that Crowley would never dare to bring home, let alone drink, if it wasn’t for work reasons, but he has to keep up appearances after all.

Crowley slitheres back into the booth and fills the glasses to the brim.  
"To the new kid" he toasts. 

Sam can’t really refuse to participate in that, Crowley figures.  
And as expected, Sam gingerly lifts his glass, eyes it’s content suspiciously and gulps it down.  
He makes a face and sticks his tongue out. If Crowley would care for such mushy humanly observations he would have found it adorable.

Although Crowley can hardly wait to start in on the good part, tempting someone while using alcohol is cheating in the demon‘s books and he is too much of a professional for that.  
So he will simply use the liquor to get Sam to open up and postpone the actual act. Besides even demons have standards and Crowley isn’t exactly keen on shagging some guy in the loo of a dive bar, at least not if it can be avoided. 

Thankfully Sam appears to be absolutely sloshed after four shots already, so it doesn’t take long for him to lean forward and start to whisper to Crowley intensly.  
After the general complaining about his excrutiatingly dull job and the usual number of missed opportunities Sam tentatively gets slurringly to the relevant part:

"Iss not th’t I don’t lo- um like her, I do, I mean, been tog- together forever, s jusst, s‘mtimes I want-"  
Sam cuts himself off, frowns repeatedly, and takes another shot.

Crowley can feel him pull back into himself so he decides to coax him forward again:

"Oh I get it, I do. I mean, it’s perfectly normal, especially after such a long time to want to try something different, you know? It’s naturall, really! Let me tell you something, Sam,"  
he offers in a conspirational tone,

"I myself have someone at home, we’re not exactly married but been together practically forever. Still, sometimes when I’m travelling and the opportunity presents itself, well…you know"  
Crowley waves his hand around suggestively, raising a brow.

Sam’s eyes visibly widen at that.  
"Does, uhm, does she know?" he asks.

Confident in his intincts and work experience Crowley decides to follow his hunch and just go for it. If he’s wrong he can always pretend it was a misunderstanding. Sam seems to be pretty wasted anyways.  
So he corrects:  
"He. He does know, in general at least. Mostly ignores it. I mean, it only happens when I work, certainly not at home, I would never do that. So it’s ok, somewhat."

Sam stares at him open mouthed, ears bright red.  
"Uhng" he starts, then leans forward even more, whispering:

"So you’re with a guy? I-I‘ ve never met s‘mone who was, um, ya know…."

"Gay?" Crowley provides grinning.

Sam looks around nervously, but nobody seems to take notice of them.  
"Yeah" he says.

"Well, I’m not, exclusively, you know, I like both",  
Crowley expands, offering Sam something to relate to, in case he needed it.

"What’s it like, with a dude I mean?"  
Sam prompts, than blushes and looks down at his glass.  
"Uhm, sssrrry, don’t have t‘ tell me, I-m….‘

Crowley can clearly feel the searing waves of want, need and desire radiating off of Sam, throbbing, pulsating and delicious.

The demon figures it is time to seal the deal.  
"You know", Crowley starts casually,  
"I’m in town for another couple days, like I said. We could meet up again and talk about stuff, if you want, maybe somewhere more- private? Just talking, really" Crowley emphasizes.

He uses Sam’s embarrassed silence to quickly reach out and get a vision of the larger area: Small town, not much going on indeed, a bank, a deli, a yoga place, some motels.  
The Calvary Inn feels promising for some reason.  
Crowley miracles himself a corner room on the first floor. Two keys manifest inside his pocket.

Sam looks up at him shyly over the rim of his glasses.  
"Uuuhhm, whass that on y’r cap?" he asks.

Perplexed by the sudden and completely different turn of topics, Crowley takes his cap off and takes a look at it.  
On the front is a brownish mess of feathers and a beak, wrapped in red-blue rags, with a gun sticking out from underneath it and a cowboy hat on top.  
Vaguely Crowley realizes that he didn’t exactly focus while creating an acceptable american look for his headgear and obviously unconsciously smashed together every associassion that came to his distracted mind.

"Ngk" he tries to explain.  
"I, uhm, got it at a gasstation, some weird misprint, thought it was funny?"

Meanwhile Sam seems to have dropped his interest for the cap completely and is gawking at Crowley’s hair. After a few seconds he drags his eyes down with obvious effort and gives Crowley a questioning and incomprehending look.

"Oh yeah, my hair, my boss doesn’t like it, too flash for work, so I tuck it away mostly, even have to wear a wig sometimes." Crowley explains.  
"Don’t wanna cut it though, my partner loves it"  
he adds with a subtle leer, trying to steer the conversation back on track.  
Sam reaches out, unthinking and curls one of Crowley’s shimmering locks around his finger. He tugs just this side of too hard while brushing his fingers along Crowley’s stubbly cheek.  
The demon shivers visibly.  
Sam pulls back hastily and looks down again, seemingly mortified by his own boldness and transgression. 

Crowley decides to ingnore it for now and get back to more solid ground. 

"You know, Sam"  
he starts, while tucking his hair back underneath his eagle-gun-flag-hat-cap again,  
"I'm serious about my offer to meet up and chat. Just two lads hanging out, talking, really. It helps with sorting things out sometimes. I’ll get something to drink, we can watch a game if you like. I mean, I‘m not even from around here, you’ll never see me again, so what do you say?"

Sam seems to consider it, his hands lightly chlenching. 

"Just talking?" he mumbles shyly.

"Just talking" Crowley confirms.

"Look" Crowley says, fishing one of the keys out of his pocket, sliding it over carefully.  
"I’m at the motel in the middle of town, why don’t you meet me there tomorrow around sevenish? Just let yourself in, number’s on the key. Tell your wife you’re just meeting up with a mate for a couple of hours, wouldn’t even be a lie".

Sam hesitates, than nods slightly, quickly snatching the key and pocketing it immediatly. 

When Crowley leaves the bar he already feels the first drops of satisfaction seeping into him and he hasn’t even actually started.

*  
Room 101 of the Cavalry Inn is as hideous as expected. Crowley doesn’t even try to make himself at home. He watches tv for a while, mostly switching through the channels, than curls up on top of the unnecessaryly colourfull and slightly mildewy comforter of his queen size bed and sleeps away the hours. 

Around a quarter to seven on the next evening Crowley gets up, materializes a chilled six pack of bud, making sure it’s light, cheating still being out of the question, and miracles himself a freshly showered appearance, since there is no way in anywhere he would try his luck with an actual motel shower.

Crowley decides on casual and not to revealing clothes, going for subtle and unthreatening, with a soft, oversized t-shirt, monochrome dark green, no print, Crowley’s not trying that again, and baggy, washed out sweatpants.  
He stays barefooted, his slightly damp hair up in what is supposed to resemble a bun.  
Crowley remembers just in time to miracle himself a generic suitcase and dump it at a corner.  
With a wave of his hand some worn clothes scatter around the bed and open product bottles appear inside the bathroom.  
Crowley doesn‘t want to raise any suspicions after all. A faulty set up can botch a whole temptation, the demon knows from experience.

At seven pm sharp there’s a tentative knock.  
"Come in"  
Crowley calls, sitting down on the bed, and Sam opens the door.  
He hesitates briefly at the threshold, than quickly slips inside. After closing the door again he stays in front of it awkwardly.  
Crowley can sense that he’s completely sober again. He also notices with a very physical, tingling sensation inside his supposed belly just how tall Sam is, now that he sees him standing up.  
Sam wears a pressed light yellow dress shirt and grey wool trousers. His hair is open and falling softly and slightly tangled down to his shoulders, long bangs framing his face.  
He isn’t wearing his crucifix thankfully and neither his wedding band. Sam shuffels around a bit and rubs the back of his head.

"Can’t even remember the last time I’ve been in a motel room" Sam says.

Crowley grins. "I don’t suppose they’ve changed that much huh? Still horrible interior design."

Sam laughs quietly. "Yeah, I guess‘", he agrees.  
"It does have free wifi though, I saw a sign…so that’s definitely a plus".

Finally Sam drags his shaggy head up and Crowley can feel interested eyes gliding along his skinny, man-shaped form. The demon leans back on his elbows and cocks his head. 

"Wanna sit here with me?" Crowley suggests.  
"The chairs are awfull, 'specially for a big guy like you. This is least a bit comfy and I don’t mind really".

"Your hair is, uhm, really hot" Sam says, instead of an answer, staring longingly at the chaotic nest of curls on top of Crowley’s head.

Crowley can’t help but preen a bit at that.

"Thanks" he drawls, "you’re not too shabby looking yourself." He adds a wink for good measure, hopefull that there will be no need for the unappealling pretense of beer and sports.

Sam blushes and bows his head again.

"Look" he starts "I'm sorry, I really don’t know why I came here in the first place. I don’t know what you expect me to do and I don’t even know if this is a good idea after all".

Crowley gets up from the bed and walks over. He carefully lifts up Sam‘s chin, gently takes off the thick glasses and peers up into his eyes, putting all the fake affection he can muster into his own, brown appearing irises.

"I'm not expecting anything from you, really", he says softly.  
"I’m simply happy you came by Sam. It’s nice to just have some company. These work trips can get awfully lonely sometimes."

Sam holds Crowley’s gaze and swallows. He licks his lips and surges forward, pressing a clumsy kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth, stubble brushing dry lips.  
He pulls back immediatly, looking devastated. 

"I’m so sorry" he stammers, "I don’t know why I did that."

Crowley reaches for Sam’s hand and presses it encouragingly.  
"Nothing to be sorry for Sam. I liked that. It felt really nice. No harm in doing something that feels good right?"

"I’ve never done this before." Sam says.

"Well, I have. Don’t worry, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But if you‘re up for, you know, trying stuff out, I can ease you through it".

Sam sighs defeatedly and lets his head fall on Crowley’s shoulder.  
"I want to, always wanted to" he whispers, almost inaudibly into Crowley’s ear.

Crowley feels the sizzling energy of Sam’s surpressed longings enter him in hot little pricks, that tumble around inside him, firing up his nerve endings. He has to hold himself back to not rush things too much and spook Sam.  
Crowley retreats a step so Sam has to pull his head up from his shoulder, then walks back to the bed, sits down on it and scoots up to the headboard, carefully dropping Sam’s glasses on the nightstand.

"Come here" Crowley drawls, patting the comforter and rising an imperceptible cloud of ancient dust and dead mites.  
Sam follows tentativly, placing one knee on the bed and supporting his weight on his hands. He bows his head and looks up through his bangs as he crawls forward until he’s face to face with Crowley. 

Sam pushes his lips on Crowley’s again shortly, while bumping his nose, than slumps back.  
"I really don’t know…" he starts, "uhm can‘t you? Please" he adds, so low and so wanting and so desperately needy, that Crowley has to surpress a shudder.

The demon places his hand on the spot next to himself.  
"Sit here" he says. 

When Sam is propped up against the headboard, Crowley carefully climbs into his lap, puts his hands lightly on Sam’s shoulders and presses his bony arse down a bit.  
He can feel Sam starting to get hard underneath him. Crowley leans forward, his right hand sliding up Sam’s neck, pulling him in for an actual kiss.  
He starts with licking along his lower lip and pulling it into his mouth. He covers Sam’s lips with his own and slowly tips his tongue against them, while brushing Sam’s hair out of his face and caressing his neck.  
Sam quivers and groans and opens his mouth to let Crowley in.  
The demon gently brushes his tonge up against Sam’s, twists it a few times and pulls back, while giving a playfull bite to Sam’s lower lip.  
He glides his lips over Sam’s stubble and starts to kitten lick his earlobe, while rubbing his arse back and forth against Sam’s crotch.

"Tell me what you want to do" Crowley whispers into Sam’s ear, low and alluring, while biting down on the shell.  
This is his favorite part, the part where his clients dig deep into their soul, reluctantly but violently drag up their deepest, most depraved desire and let it pour down on Crowley to bathe him in it.

"Uhm, I…I wanna, do, eh, you know, uhm, sexual stuff?" is what Sam comes up with.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at that and remembers to smile just in time.

"I'm definetly down for that, just tell me how, sugar" Crowley breathes, trying to salvage the mood.

Sam pants, red faced and sweating.  
"I-I don’t know what, uhm, if,…can‘t we start, like, the usual way?"

Crowley is almost ready to take mercy on the poor stammering sod, but being a demon, mercy’s simply not in his repertoire.

"And what would the usual way be" Crowley purrs instead, reminding himself that work can indeed be exhausting.

Sam takes a deep breath.  
"Like with, uhm, you know…" Sam stops himself and looks up at Crowley who has started undulating his arse over Sam’s crotch in lazy circles.

"Use your words, darling" Crowley coaxes.

"I really want…uhm, I want to put my cock up your ass first and then…"  
Sam obviously used up all his courage and stops.

Crowley laughs out at Sam‘s very common and very plain desire for simply cramming his dick into something, but he didn’t miss the promise of something more entertaining.

"Alright Mr. Accountant, we can absolutely arrange that, see where it goes, hm? Lets get this out of the way" he says, pulling at Sam’s shirt.  
Sam opens the buttons, slides it off and throws it to the floor. The white wife beater underneath follows right after.  
Sam proceeds with his trousers, throwing Crowley off with a quick motion of his pelvis.  
When he has his belt open, Crowley, a bit taken aback by Sam’s sudden eagerness, tries to help and starts to pull the trousers down, brushing a hand to the bulged out left pocket in the process.  
An unpleasent tingling sensation surges through him.  
Sam hastily removes Crowley’s hands and huffs a quick  
"I'll do it." "Forgott my shoes anyway" he adds, a bit sheepishly and leans down to take them off. 

Looking sideways at Crowley he mumbles through a curtain of hair falling in his face:  
"Why don’t you uh…" gesturing vaguely at Crowley’s clothes.  
Crowley sits back and begins to undress. While Sam is throwing his slightly damp socks on the stainy motel carpet, Crowley remembers how utterly unerotic and needlessly time consuming the human way could be.

He peeks over at Sam’s now naked body.  
That gets his mind back into the game immediatly. Sam’s body looks- hot, Crowley decides, since he’s unable to come up with a better word. Sam is muscular in a way Crowley had not suspected. Built, but not too buff, more wiry.  
Sam’s form looks like it was accomplished by hard physical labour and not by blowing off steam at a gym. A bit unusual for an accountant, Crowley muses, while drinking Sam in.  
He starts at his strong neck and slips down to his chest, flicking his eyes over small, hard nipples.  
Dark brown chesthair interspersed with grey leads to a fuzzy happy trail and Crowley tentativly follows it down with his finger. Sam is fully hard now, uncut, thick cock standing up and leaning slightly to the right. 

Crowley swallows, pulling back his hand.

He faintly notices scars of various shapes and sizes littering Sam’s body in different places and makes a puzzled face.

Sam promptly reacts to Crowley’s suspicious squint.  
"Oh, uhm, I joined the military after school, tried to get out a bit. Came back after an injury though. Does, I mean, does it bother you?" he asks selfconsciously. 

"What, the scars?" Crowley quickly answers. "No, not at all, I think they’re rather hot. Sorry, didn’t mean to kill the mood, was just surprised is all."

Sam looks him over, dragging his gaze over Crowley’s skinny body, partially covered with soft red hairs and freckles.

"You look, uhm, really pretty?" he tries.

"Ah you know how to make a guy feel wanted" Crowley teases, and succeeds in managing to make Sam smile a bit.

"Sorry, like I said, never done that before, don’t know what works for dudes. Can I touch you?"

"Go ahead" Crowley sighs and Sam starts to trace his fingers over Crowley’s sharp hipbones. Crowley shudders and lies back on the bed, discretely opening his legs a bit.  
Sam slowley rubs his hand over Crowley‘s body while leaning over him sideways and a bit awkwardly. It still feels pleasant, Crowley notices. Sam’s hand is unexpectedly rough and creates a satisfying amount of friction.  
While Crowley registers Sam’s hard on leaking against his hip, Sam pinches Crowley’s dark nipples, one after the other, hard.  
The demon hisses.

"Sorry" Sam apologizes.

"Nah, ‚s good, just didn’t expect it, keep going" Crowley prompts.

Sam grins and rolls on top of him, his weight pressing Crowley down. He pushes Crowley’s thighs apart with his own, placing himself firmly between them, their cocks dragging against eachother dryly.

Crowley hisses again.  
Sam burries his face in Crowley’s neck, one hand on Crowley’s hip, the other in his hair, untangling the bun and flicking the hairband of the bed.  
He wraps red locks around his wrist and pulls Crowley’s head back abruptly, burrying his teeth in the demon’s neck.  
Crowley cries out in sensual shock, precome dribbling against Sam’s cock and thighs.  
Sam laps at the bite mark a little, while moving his hips.  
He hums. 

"Feels good" Crowley encourages, actually meaning it.

Sam’s hand untangles from Crowley’s hair and slips to his neck, experimentally pressing down a bit while his mouth moves to crowley’s left nipple.  
He pulls on the nub with his teeth. Sam’s other hand is digging bruises into Crowley’s hip.

Sam’s disregard for Crowley’s physical integrity and his unrelenting selfishness, that make him take his pleasure almost forcefully, is highly arousing to Crowley’s demonic nature and promises and outstandingly satisfactional work achievement. Crowley’s excitement makes it impossible for him to wait any longer.

"Fuck me" he rasps, bucking up and pressing his thighs to Sam’s hips.

Sam lets his hand slip from Crowley’s neck and pushes it roughly between his legs, underneath his balls and against his dry hole. He rubs his fingers around the rim, brushing over soft curly hair.

"I think we need…" he starts.  
Crowley nudges him with a bottle.  
Sam takes it unquestioningly and pours way too much of it’s content into his palm, spreads the slick on his hand and around Crowley’s hole, than pushes his index finger right in.  
At least he is aware of the basics, probably porn knowledge, Crowley gathers.

The pleasurable sensation of Sam’s negative emotions, hiding right underneath the surface of his lust, and rubbing themselves sluttyly against Crowley’s demonic receptors, lets Crowley completely disregard any possible physical discomfort. 

He laughs and hisses and grinds back, arching off the bed a bit, just to make a point. He feels a second finger entering him and howls.  
Sam has obviously given up on letting himself slowly be eased into it.  
Sam’s fingers move way to quickly, uncoordinated and not deep enough.  
The angle is also very wrong.  
It’s deliciously bad.

When the third finger enters him, Crowley feels a sharp sting at his hip and looks down.  
Sam has bowed down and started to bite again. He drags his teeth along Crowley’s pelvis and buries his face in his red pubes.  
Crowley’s slim cock is leaking onto his own belly and strands of Sam’s hair.

"Ready" he lies.  
He absolutely isn’t on a human level, but he simply wills his body into it.

Sam lifts his head, pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock.  
He doesn’t even ask for protection.  
He just grabs Crowley’s thighs, pushing them back, bending him in half.  
Sam let’s one of the demon’s leg fall on his shoulder, holding onto it with one hand and uses his other hand to line up his cock.  
It doesn’t slip in right away.  
Sam has to fumble around a bit and slips out again two or three times.  
He grunts impatiently.

When Crowley is finally breached , the physical sensation doesn’t even register to him.  
Instead of Sam’s cock pushing into him he feels Sam’s succumbing to sin slowley and powerfully sliding over his skin, wrapping him in fiery silk and finally sinking into him.  
Crowley’s whole being gets flooded with demonic dopamin.  
He feels proud, justified, and whole.  
He successfully accomplished what he was created to do.  
Crowley is sated, mellow and at peace.

While still drifting on his high, Crowley vaguely starts to register the physical feelings discretely pushing at his mind, asking to be noticed.  
Crowley concentrates on them and is surprised. Instead of the expected dull burn beween his legs, there‘s pleasant tingling and liquid pressure starts to built in his lower belly.

Sam is moving above him, he has leaned forward on his arms, Crowley’s left leg still on his shoulder, the other wrapped around Sam’s middle. Sam’s mouth is pressed against Crowley’s neck, tongue gliding back and forth while his pelvis is pressed snugly against Crowley’s arse, making slow circling motions.  
Sam pulls back just a bit, pushes back in at a slightly different angle, grinding moderatly.  
Crowley huffs.

Sam lifts his head from Crowley’s neck and looks down on him, sweaty hair falling in his eyes. He grins.  
"Feel good?"

"Uhm, yeah?" Crowley answers tentativly. 

"Figured the mechanics are a bit similar, just had to find my rhythm" Sam provides, while leaning down to lick und bite behind Crowley’s ear again. 

Still riding his supernatural high Crowley’s brain feels too scrambled to properly function. He had expected the whole ordeal to be over by now, Sam releasing quickly, fumbling for his clothes in shame and stumbling out to leave Crowley to bask in the afterglow.  
Lust usually ends like this.

Crowley stares up at the ceiling fan, still a bit confused, while Sam nuzzles his neck.

"Can I tell you something?" he whispers.

"Cause" Crowley says, vaguely remembering, that there was another desire Sam obviously held back until now. If this whole thing was dragging on, Crowley figured he might at least go for a nice little extra kick.  
Humans were very creative after all so it might be worth it.

"There’s something I’ve always wanted to try…" Sam mumbles. He has stilled his movements now, simply lying on top of Crowley.

"What is it?" Crowley prompts.

Sam grunts and bites Crowleys shoulder.  
"I can’t".

"Why not?" Cowley asks.  
"You can tell me anything, noone here but us. Will be our little secret, hm?"  
He reaches up to stroke Sam’s hair soothingly.

"I, I really can’t. It’s, it’s weird and you wouldn’t want to do it anyways, so let’s forget I brought it up. And this feels great, really"  
Sam emphazises, circling his hips again and pressing right up into where Crowley’s prostate is supposed to be.  
Since Crowley is always thorough in materializing his physical equipment he feels a pleasant sensation at that.

"Wait‘"Crowley finally manages, curiosity mingling with demonic pride.  
"Lay it on me, come on, I wanna know".

"Can’t" Sam mumbles into Crowley’s hair while scratching his scalp and pulling a bit.  
"You’ll think I’m a freak".

"Try me. No honestly, We don’t have to do it but I promise I can deal with hearing it."  
Crowley nudges at Sam encouragingly.

"Ok" am says, sitting up and pulling Crowley into his lap. He burries his face in Crowley’s hair again and starts whispering into his ear:

"You know, you probably guessed already, but my family is pretty, uhm, religious. I am too, at least I’m supposed to be, raised catholic and all, you know? See, I really loved going to church, the service, everything looked so beautiful and impressive."  
Sam sighs. ‚  
"Those amazing colours, gold and purple and red. Communion was always my favorite part. It was so…intimate, I felt so connected und filled."  
Sam stops, pressing his cheek to Crowley’s, nuzzling a bit.  
"When I began to realize I… liked men I felt so…guilty and dirty. I just wanted to stay a part of it, of this community and I knew they wouldn’t welcome me anymore if they knew.  
So I started to fantasize, mix things up in my head, I guess some wires got crossed, I don’t really know.  
But I always felt so accepted and at home while recieving communion. I just wanted to- to experience that same feeling while being with another man instead of, you know, the guilt that kept me from actually going for it….  
So, uhm, I figured to really feel close to another guy I would like to-to taste his blood. Drink from him, completely take him in and be absolved by him in allowing me to."

Crowley gasps. He feels like liquid fire is running trough his body, burning away at his insides.  
His physical arousal culminates in a violant und unexpected orgasm, shooting through him like a shock, painfull in it’s intensity.  
He clenches uncontrollably, splattering Sam’s belly with come and scratching desperatly at his arms.

Blasphemy can have that effect on a demon.

Sam lifts his head. He dips a finger in the milky white substance and brings it up to Crowley’s lips, painting them glossy. Then he leans down and kisses it off.

"Would you let me do that?" he whispers into Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley trembles. He can‘t think properly about consequences right now, overwhelmed by the new and unexpected possibilities.

"Yes" he agrees, purely on instinct.

Sam smiles at him thankfully.  
Crowley realizes fuzzily that Sam is still inside him and still hard.  
Sam grabs Crowleys hips and gently pulls him off his lap, slipping out.  
He bents down and fishes around in one of his shoes next to the bed, coming up with something small wrapped up in tissues.  
He unpacks a razorblade and holds it up questioningly.

"I know what to do, did it to myself sometimes, I wont cut deep, no actual harm, not too painfull, promise".

Crowley sits slumped on the bed like a ragdoll. Everything feels slightly clouded and a bit weird. He stares at the blade transfixed.

"Ok" he says automatically.

Sam pushes a hand through Crowley’s locks and pulls him in for a kiss. 

"Turn around" he whispers.  
When Crowley hesitates he shyly ads:  
"It feels, uhm, awkward, I never did it with someone watching and I don’t want you to see me while doing it".

Crowley turns.

Sam pulls Crowley back into his lap, reverse cowgirl style, and slips inside of him again. He places a hand on Crowley’s chest to hold him, carefully moving his hips. Crowley groans and wills his body into a shorter refractory period.  
Sam gently strokes Crowley’s chest, rocking him on his lap, while bringing his other hand up to Crowley’s shoulder blade.

"Are you ready? I’ll just nick you a bit, promise."

Suddenly Crowley realizes the extremely vulnerable position he’s in and blesses at himself internally. He braces his hands on Sam’s thighs, ready to push himself off should something go wrong.  
With the current state of affairs he really can’t risk having to negotiate with hell for a new body.

Crowley tenses a bit.  
"Ok, but don’t mess up, hear me?" he hisses, his curiosity and hunger for the sensation of a new sin that he never helped someone commit before still outweighing the imminent danger.

After Crowley agreed, there‘s a slight burning sting at his right shoulderblade. Sam’s lips close over the wound immediatly and he starts to suck.  
Crowley feels Sam’s muscles tense, his cock quivering inside of him.  
Sam’s skin seems hotter.  
He moans gutturally, while lapping at the cut.

Slowley Crowley can sense demonic energy raising up and curling around them. Although strange, it is not entirely unpleasant, a bit like getting wrapped up in velvet, laced with nettles.  
It is weird for Crowley to feel it from the outside like this though, since it does not seem to emenate from Crowley himself.  
He can‘t quite gather how that could be. The last time he felt something like this was shortly after his fall, when he made futile attempts of finding comfort with other demons, clashing his human-like form against theirs while their energies mingled with his.

While trying to make sense of the situation, Crowley figures, since being the only demon present, he must have been radiating so much energy during the temptation that it is now sinking back onto him, although that never happened before.  
Crowley tries to reach out for Sam’s emotions.  
He finds them deep inside the wavering, charcoal veil of the surrounding demonic sensations, like a red, pulsating core of desire and desperation.  
Crowley feels nearly intoxicated by it and starts to drink it in.  
He vaguely realizes something creeping up to his head. There’s a short flash of energy that seems to push at Crowley’s mind, but the sensation retreats again almost immediatly, sinks down and pools between the demon’s legs instead.  
Crowley instinctively leans his head back against Sam’s shoulder and closes his eyes.  
He brings one hand back to tangle in Sam’s hair and wimpers.  
Sam takes advantage of the new position and cuts the exposed side of Crowley’s neck next.  
While his lips press down, Sam‘s hands, mindfull of the blade, grab Crowley’s thighs and sensually pull them apart.  
Crowley sinks down on Sam’s cock even further, spread widely across Sam’s lap, fully exposed and bathing in the dark, sizzling waves of power swirling around him, while his human form experiences pure physical pleasure.

Sam’s hands and lips seem to be everywhere, teasing and stroking, while the stings from the cuts send exiting little sparks to Crowley’s nerve endings.

When a new powerfull wave of energy crashes over him, Crowley succumbs completely and lets himself drown. 

Crowley floats for a while, unable to differentiate between metaphysical and earthly sensations anymore and not wanting to.  
He feels liquified, unbound and unburdened, simply existing inside warm, black stream, flowing back and forth. 

Then Sam starts to cut Crowley’s wrist just a bit too uncoordinated and the sudden flash of physical pain brings Crowley mind slowly back online.  
He realizes that his eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling were burning stars are dancing among bright red flames and the twitching shadows of unnamable creatures.  
His tongue is flicking around, long, rough and forked, scenting the air. It smells like cananda odorata, blood and sulfur.  
Crowley’s claws are out, one set digging sharply into the meat of Sam’s thighs, the other scratching at the hand that is holding Crowley’s wrist.  
His skin feels scaley.  
His spine is bent at an impossible angle, trying to wrapp itself around Sam and Crowley’s wings nearly brush the walls of the room.  
Sam’s chest is pressed into the soft down feathers right at the place where the wings sprout from Crowley’s shoulderblades, Sam’s arms reaching underneath them.

Sam is whispering to him, praising, coaxing.

"You’re a perfect creature, so amazingly beautiful, tu pulcher es, dilecte mi, that’s it, just let go, let me taste, so sweet…"

Crowly squeezes his eyes shut and pulls his hand out of Sam’s grip.  
Everything feels very wrong suddenly. And some of the words sting. Crowley is desoriented and nauseous.  
He manically flutters his wings, knocking over some small furnishings and thankfully succeeds in pushing Sam back.  
Crowley rolls his tongue in and tries to get it to work.

"Stop, just stop" he manages desperately, falling forward from Sam’s lap onto hands and knees.

Crowley feels a large, burning hot hand gently touching his back, followed by the immediate tidal pull of dark energy being sucked back and collapsing into itself.

"Sorry" says Sam. 

The demon inhales deeply and unnecessaryly and blacks out.

*  
Crowley comes to to the ceiling fan whirling above his head. He is lying on the motel bed, covered with the now familiar, brightly coloured comforter.  
Sam sits on the bed beside him, fully clothed, his glasses and a worried look on his face. 

"There you are, you passed out for a bit, had me scared" he says guiltily.

Crowley sits up gingerly and blinks. He looks down on his hands first. They look human. His tongue and skin feel human too. His wings seem to be tucked away in another dimension, like they should be.  
The room smells of mildew, cigarette smoke and come.

Stretching himself excessivly, Crowley assesses the damage. His arse feels sore and also very wet, which is generally disgusting, but to be expected as a result of getting buggered by a human.  
Three smaller cuts are burning on Crowley‘s skin, one on his shoulder blade, one on his neck and one on his wrist. No big deal. Everything else aches dully, but not alarmingly.

Judging from the calm and collected way Sam sits on the bed Crowley concludes he must have been hallucinating. Sam definetely does not look like he just had a full on demon writhing on his lap, in a room that looked like someone threw up over a Bosch painting. 

"What time is it?" Crowley asks.

"Uhm, around 8.30 pm?" Sam provides.

So only about 1,5 hours than, still a decent time for a shag, Crowley thinks. He definetely had shorter ones.

"I cleaned you up a bit" Sam says,  
"you still might wanna do something about the, uhm…cuts though, you know infections and stuff, uhm…?‘"  
Sam gestures vaguely at Crowley’s form.  
He’s babbling and seems to be embarrassed, the whole situation feels awfully awkward.  
Crowley just wants it to end.

"Are you ok?" Sam asks.  
"I mean, if you are, I guess I rather head home now?"

"Eh"‘ says Crowley, pulling himself together, trying to create an air of nonchalance.  
"Yeah sure, cause I’m ok, why wouldn’t I be?"

"Great" Sam beams, alread getting up.  
"You really helped me, Crowley, I will not forget that, thank you" Sam says, closing the door on his way out.

"My pleasure" Crowley mumbles, feeling very exhausted suddenly.

He waves away the cuts and most of the come and curls up, trying to sleep. Before he slips off something pushes at the back of his mind, something that doesn’t quite fit. Crowley forces it down.

*  
The next time Crowley wakes, it‘s to sunlight filtering through the thin curtains. He still feels drained but slightly better. A sound wafts up from the side of the bed, and Crowley slowly recognizes it as his phone ringing. Moaning dramatically, he lets himself slink halfway off the bed and fishes upside down for his trouser pockets.  
He pulls his phone out, flipping it open.

"Oh hello love, I truely hope I am not interrupting something, I just wanted to know if you’re still at, ah, work?"Aziraphale asks.

"All done angel, why, you wanna come over and thwart me?"

"There is no need to get testy with me, I was simply concerned and wanted to check up on you" Aziraphale answers, clearly offended.

Crowley groans.  
"I’m sorry, Aziraphale, it’s just, it was a very weird one, yeah? I’ll pop right back, gotta clean up the room first. You at home?"

"I am at the cottage, yes, been trying to make french toast. Do you perhaps care for some?"

"Nah, just a bath and back to sleep again, see you soon" Crowley sighs, flipping the phone shut and letting it drop. 

He notices something sticking out from underneath the bed and pulls it up.  
It’s a small velvet bag that smells unpleasant, old, pungent and off somehow.  
Crowley wrinkles his nose and opens it.  
The inside of the cloth is painted with a sigil.  
The flaky brown colour suggests it was done in blood, very traditional.  
The bag contains some herbs, small bones, a tiny piece of rock and tamarind seeds, wrapped neatly and thouroughly in dried snake skin. 

Crowley stares at it, than blesses profusely and lights it on hellfire.

After miracling the motel room back to it’s previous state, Crowley doesn’t even make the effort to dress himself.  
He just teleports over to the South Downs, bare arsed as he is, and lands directly inside the tub. He waves it full of water and roughly twenty bath bombs.  
Before he lets himself sink down underneath the surface, Crowley notices the house faintly smelling of burnt sugar.

About an hour later Aziraphal wraps up his dress shirt sleaves and reaches inside the tub. He grabs a shock full of drenched red hair and gently pulls Crowley up by it.

"Are you quite alright my dear" he asks carefully.

"Is the kitchen quite alright?" Crowley retorts.

Aziraphale smiles mildly. He doesn’t answer, just reaches out and strokes his fingers along Crowley’s face.

"M fine, angel, really. I just feel like I fucked up royally and don’t even know how exactly."

"Oh Crowley, language" Aziraphale chides, lovingly and purely out of principle.

"Seriously, Aziraphale, there’s no other word for it.  
I completely botched it.  
Some weirdo got me into tempting him by using black magic and than turned it around on me somehow?  
So it didn’t really do anything for me in the long run, just felt strange.  
I thought I was working with a standard closet case, seduce him, fuel up on the guilt a bit.  
Next thing I know I let the freak drink my blood.  
Fuck knows why I agreed to that.  
Blessed satanists.  
Good thing I don’t actually work for downstairs anymore, I’d never live that one down." Crowley sighs dramatically, scrubbing a wet hand over his face.

Aziraphale sends him a concerned and confused look while placing his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, his thumb soothingly stroking circles into his skin.

"He drank your blood? That is most curious. What would a human get out of ingesting demon blood besides an upset stomach?"

"Fuck if I know, angel, probably just completely mental, that one.  
You know how humans can get.  
I Don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Cuddle me?"

"But of course, love, let’s just get you dried off first" Aziraphale answers, effortlessly lifting the scrawny, soaked demon out of the tub and wrapping him up in a fluffy, lavender coloured bath towel. 

Crowley sighs contentedly.

"'M doing absolutely nothing for the next three weeks" he mumbles into the towel.

"My dear boy, you hardly do anything around here anyways, I’ll probably won’t even notice, don’t you worry about it." Aziraphale teases, while carrying Crowley into the bedroom.

*  
A month later Crowley has mostly repressed the incident.  
One evening after a very pleasant and satisfying trip to a garden show, he is lounging on the living room couch, feet propped up in Aziraphale‘s lap.  
Aziraphale holds a book in one hand while his other hand gently strokes over Crowley’s ankles, only stopping to pick up an apricot scone from time to time.  
Crowley hums happily, browsing on his tablet when an email pops up.  
Crowley frowns at it, fingers hovering over the screen for a while.  
He tries to will it away.  
The small icon on his screen doesn’t budge.  
Crowley clicks it eventually.  
Upon reading, Crowley makes a surprised sound, somewhere between a grunt, a hiss and a blessing.

Aziraphale looks up from his book.  
"Whatever is the matter, dear" he asks surprised.

Crowley looks at him dumbfounded.  
"Hell’s had a change in management and appearantly I shagged the new boss."

***


End file.
